








ARCHWAYS 
OF LIFE 

hy 
Mercedes de Acosta 












Class JPSMO 

1991 



CDfVRIGHT DEPOSm 



ARCHWAYS 
OF LIFE 



ARCHWAYS OF LIFE 



by 

Mercedes de Acosta 

Author of "Moods" etc. 




NEW YORK 

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 

1921 






\ 



Copyright, 1921, by 
MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 



MAR -4 1922 



§)CU654818 



^^0 \ 



ro 

A. P. 



Acknowledgment is made to " Poetry: A 
Magazine of Verse,'' for permission to 
reprint some of the poems in this volume. 



—7— 



' CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Faded Petals 13 

Soiled Hands 14 

Reflection 15 

Lumbermen 16 

Sonnet . 17 

Unpossessed 18 

Unreality 19 

Magic 20 

Platitudes 21 

A Dream 22 

To VOULETTI 23 

October 28th 24 

Life's Mirage 25 

Wind 26 

God's Hand . 27 

Words 29 

Blindness 30 

Spring and You 31 

Walt Whitman 32 

Surrender .33 

We Three 34 

In the Wings 38 

Infatuation 39 

All I Ask 40 

-9- 



PAGE 

Symbol 41 

Misunderstanding ........ 42 

Ending 44 

Poetry 4^ 

Atlantic City 48 

Your Face 49 

Illusion .50 

Festa del Redentore in Venice . . .51 

Color Symphony 52 

To One Who Loves Jewels 53 

Footprints 54 

Life and Youth 55 

Poor Fools 58 

Longing 59 

Music 60 

Flowers and Stars 61 



—10— 



ARCHWAYS OF LIFE 



—11 



/ am a part of all that I have met. 
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' 
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades 
Forever and forever when I move, 

" Ulysses." 



12- 



FADED PETALS 

Come! Let us be friends. 

Throw off the cloak of passion 

(You wear it far too much) 

And though vour sKghtest touch 

Has ceased to make me tremble, 

There is no reason why — 

We still cannot 

Climb our hill together. 

And, at twilight's end, 

Call each other "friend." 

The rose tree fades but has its spring and 

autumn, 
And so with love. 
But with a rose — 
We gather its faded petals 
And in a box of precious metals 
We store its fragrance. 
Why not with love? 
And which is more beautiful — 
Who can say.^ 

A rose in bloom or the fragrance of its petals 
In decay! 

-13- 



SOILED HANDS 

After everyone had left, 

It was always so wonderful sitting in the dark 

theatre with you. 
There was a mystery about it. 
As though the echo of many plays 
Still lingered in the folds of the curtain. 
While phantom figures crouched low in the 

chairs. 
Beating suppressed applause with vapor hands. 
Do you remember how we always sat silently? 
I would shut my eyes to feel your closeness 

nearer. 
Then slowly and like a ritual 
I would take your hand. 
And you would laugh a little and say, 
"My hands are awfully sticky" — or 
"I can't seem to keep my hands clean in this 

theatre," 
As if that mattered ... as if that mat- 
tered. . . . 



14- 



REFLECTION 

I, WITH my back to the window, 

Can see bending and swinging trees, 

A gay blue patch of the sky 

With the corner of a cloud looking in 

And you, with your face buried in a rose, 

Thus, I have my whole world. 

In just this little mirror 

Which I hold in the hollow of my hand. 



—15— 



LUMBERMEN 

I WATCH the lumbermen 
Winding up the mountain 
Between the autumn branches. 
I see 

Leaves gold, red, flame and green, 

With flashes of faded blue between 

Of their overalls. 

Straining and pulling 

Horses brown and soiled white 

Stagger up the mountain side 

Before them 

Dragging huge and heavy timber. 

Down in the valley 

I can hear the echo 

Of the men's muffled curses, 

And the quick snap 

Of long thin whips. 



-16- 



SONNET 

I COULD not wish all pain and grief and fears 
Should leave my life and let my heart go free; 
For then true love could never stay with me, — 
That deepest love that had its birth in tears. 
Smiles come in eyes, while often joy appears 
When lovers meet — but deeper than the sea. 
With strength that could a thousand chains 

tear free, 
Is love that from gray tragic sorrow rears. 

So, love, but one rare bliss I would aspire: 
If you would let me share your grief on earth. 
Bear all your loss and take your pain entire — 
Guide your dark way. Let others share your 

mirth, 
I know your gay laughter is not for me — 
But lean on me in grief, when tears flow free. 



—17— 



UNPOSSESSED 

Never shall I be all subdued. 

Nor the real secret of me understood; 

Passionately and violently my body may be 

possessed. 
But my spirit 
Always a virgin. 
Will wander on forever 
Unpossessed ! 



18— 



UNREALITY 

From out the window pane I see your face, 

Its outline a little vague 

In the dimness of the shadow. 

But the whiteness of your skin 

Is like a clean ship's sail, 

Standing out in the darkness of a night. 

And your eyes, — I see them like two golden 
bowls, 

With the rays of a thousand moonbeams sweep- 
ing over them. 

As I pass out into the blackness, 

I wonder if I have ever really known you — 

Or, if you exist at all — 

And are not but a twisted, fevered, silver crea- 
tion of my brain, 

And the unreality of you comes over me, 

Like a mist upon a lonely sea. 



—19 



MAGIC 

We, who yesterday were spring, and wine, and 

flame, to each other. 
Today are only two human beings. 
Commonplace, and tired; 

You vaguely jealous, and I slightly bored. . . , 
But tomorrow — 
Or the next day — 
The Magic may come back again. 
And with it Spring, and Win«, and Flame. 

It is for this that I live. 



-20 



PLATITUDES 

Tonight for a second 

I almost thought I could love you. 

The mystery of the night 

And stillness of the wind 

Seemed to speak of love 

And draw us closer. 

There was something sublime 

About our silence, 

With only the sound of dripping water 

As it splashed and fingered the bow of our boat. 

I seemed to see you differently. 

And for a brief instant 

My love wanted to creep down 

And kneel at your feet. 

Just then you turned and said: 

"Isn't the moon wonderful tonight!" and 

"It all seems like a stage setting," 

Then I knew I never could love you! 



-21— 



A DREAM 

I REMEMBER when the moon east down a flood 
Of gold aeross my floor and you came through 
And held my hand and brought me hope like 

silver dew. 
I remember when your touch stirred my blood 
And taught me in a flash to dream of you. 
And recklessly I poured your face into my 

heart 
And lodged you there — and you were a part 
Of me, before I knew. 

Then we became comrades, we two, 

Even before this dream so strange and new 

Eastened itseK upon my wakeful life. 

And from out the chaos and maddening strife 

I called to you. . . ; 

And now you do not answer. 



—22— 



TO VOULETTI 

There is not a leaf grown, 
Not a breeze that's blown. 
Not a sweet fragrant tree 
That is not you, to me. 

In the sunlight I feel your smile, 
In the moonlight the whole long while, 
I feel the pressure of your hand, 
And feeling this I understand. 

I understand all sacred things. 
The depths of Life, the secret wings 
That carry beyond the dreary way. 
Turning dark to light, and night to day. 

All things fine, and straight, and true, 

I know better because of you. 

While your sweetness is like a warm fresh 

shower. 
And your face and soul like a sun-kissed flower. 



—23— 



OCTOBER 28th 

Today is your birthday. 

Many people will come to you with offerings. 

While I, 

Who seemingly know you so slightly, 

Yet who truly know you so well. 

Must stand aside with empty hands. 

If love could make this day perfect, 

My love would weave for you 

A web enmeshed with all your desires. 

On your pathway 

I would fling stars for pebbles 

And tear down the moon 

So that you might wear 

The radiance of its silver 

In your hair. 

But instead — 

I stand outside like a wall 

And quite powerless 

I send no gift at all. 



—24 — 



LIFE'S MIRAGE 

I HAVE seen happiness. I have seen a shm 
figure steal 

Across my path, and gathering flowers, laugh- 
ingly kneel 

And strew them on my way. . . . 

Then, but for one brief day, 

I have seen them bloom beneath my feet, and 
fade away. 

I have heard happiness. I have heard its 
voice, blown through the trees. 

Calling and whispering in soft minor keys; 

I have heard the voice of heart's desire, the 
voice of Hope, 

Chanting melodiously and luring me up the 
slope 

Of Life. 

I have held happiness. Like a grain of sand. 
Golden and beautiful, and gathered in my hand, 
There, one second — then gone again: 
Elusive, transient: all in vain 
To try and hold it. 



—25- 



WIND 

If I should die, 

I would be buried air-tight beneath the ground. 

While you — 

Your gold hair blowing in the breeze — 

Would still feel the caress of the wind, 

And on your face would steal 

A smile. 

If I should die. 

My body would be buried air-tight beneath the 

ground. 
But my spirit will wander in the wind 
That touches and circles about your face. 
Perhaps you will know this — 
And recognizing my touch 
For this reason, you will smile. ... 

The smile I know and love. 



—26— 



GOD'S HAND 

Let me wander back over the mountains, 

And facing the sea 

Live under the open sky — 

Too long have I been encumbered 

With the deceit of man 

And his spoken he. 

I wish to die, 

Away from petty thoughts 

And treacherous ways. 

And end my days 

Alone. 

I shall sing no sad lament 

That no hand guides me; 

But rather shall the vision I once have been 

Through solitude, make me again the thing I 

might have been. 
The self I lost because I trusted, loved and 

hoped. 
And blinded my eyes with the dust of faith and 

groped 
My way to truth. 

—27— 



There is no truth in man — 

Only shall I find it 

In grasping God's Hand 

That leads my way to hill and tree, 

And stamps His Truth upon the sea. 

In nature shall I find my life, 

Through nature lose the poisoned knife. 

That tried to slay me. 

In solitude I shall breathe life's breath. 

And breathing life I shall welcome death. 



—28 



WORDS 

Words — words — 

Why are you forever fencing? 

And if you must fence 

Cannot you use something else 

Besides words! 

Do you remember the last night? 

We talked so madly — 

Words again 

And then more words. 

It all seemed a tangled net of words. 

You were trying to convince me of something 

(God knows what) 

And I was trying to answer intelligently 

And keep my end up. 

But somehow and suddenly 

Our words meant so little; 

Then you leaned forward 

And your knee touched mine 

And after that my thoughts blurred 

And our words meant nothing. 



-29- 



BLINDNESS 

Perhaps you are not much — 
And maybe you are heartless 
As they say you are — 
And yet, 

I shall always try to believe 
That you are all the things 
That I would have you, 
So, that in the end, 
I shall not have to know 
My love and dreams of you 
Have been all in vain 
And wasted. 



—30— 



SPRING AND YOU 

Today there is a smell of Spring in the air — 
That sad restless note that makes one stretch 

forth longing hands 
Into the heart of Life. 
I who used to hate Spring, 
Can never hate it again, 
Because it has brought me you. 
Now, Love and April, and the gold of your 

hair, 
Are all mingled together 
Like the blending of an exotic dream plant 
With the fragrant perfume of a strange, frail 

flower. 



—31— 



WALT WHITMAN 

I WOULD dare say that you are a superman. 

Would fling the words out to the world 

And dare him who dares to question it. 

I would satiate myself with the art of you; 

Would fling aside the talent of the many, 

For the gift of the few 

Whom you have touched. 

In your hands you hold a torch of light, 

A message in your being. 

While in your eyes — 

Far seeing vision clear and bright. 

There is power in your poise, 

And magic 

In your rhythm, advance and wait. 

Drinking in your greatness, 

I, myself, am great. 



-32- 



SURRENDER 

I WILL offer all my love 

Recklessly, without rest. 
And give myseff completely 

Upon my darling's breast — 
Our pulses shall beat as one pulse, 

And in that sacred breath 
I shall feel the touch of Life 

Yet know the truth of Death! 



—33— 



WE THREE 

Theee is something that from between us has 

sHpped away and left me chill, 
Something that by its loss has made the world 

less warm 
And made me feel as though the sun rising o'er 

the purple dew-touched hill, 
Finds its rays cold as it touches the face of 

dawn. 

Although we kiss and meet the same each day. 
You speak my name and I yours and we clasp 

hands, 
Yet from somewhere, I do not know which 

way. 
Stealing between us a lurking figure stands. 

A figure clad in gray. . . . 

To me a dream, a phantom come to steal 

My starlight quite away. 

To you a gay figure, not strange but real. 

And all the while it lurks and turns. 

And from every cell and corner of my brain 

I feel its presence and the burns 

Even of your kisses cannot make me sane. 

—34— 



Why should this figure strange and sinister 
Keep on coming? Why should she in the night 
Breathe words of comfort and administer 
Balm to my soul, pointing the way to light? 

While when we meet in the day a dread silence 
lingers, 

A silence chill which with no kindness blends 

A word of cheer, or kind touch for my trem- 
bling fingers; 

No look to prove that we are even friends. 

Sometimes when you call my name I hear a 

tone 
Of her voice within yours, and you say 
Things which she will say at night and when 

alone. 
Or what she's said before just that way. 
They say we dream in sleep, but I must dream 

by day. 
Because on waking she is a dream child, nor 

seems less fair. 
Though more cruel than when I left her in my 

sleep sitting there. 

If I could brush away this vision and start 

once again, 
If I could see sunlight and feel less sad, 

—35— 



If I could only steady the confusion of my brain, 
Somewhere, somehow I might again be glad. 
And by a laugh or carefree jest, 
I might once more call your love from out the 

past 
And hold you closely to my side — lest. 
Again between us the figure stand and fast 
Would bind my hands and from me turn your 

face away, 
Making once more my day a night and my 

night a day. 

Ah, love, if we could turn Spring into last 

Spring again. 
Or if I could toss my heart away and make it 

new; 
If I could drink deeply of some draught to ease 

the pain. 
Or become more callous, less kind and far, far 

less true. . . . 
Less true to ideals, to love and you. 

Perhaps I will, then my brain will cease to 

ache. 
And this sad frenzied chaos I will not prolong; 
Then for yours, or mine or hers or each one's 

sake, 
I will wave farewell to you, singing Love's Swan 

Song. 

—36— 



Singing Love's Swan Song, so that this may 

truly be. 
That never again will false love take hold 

of me; 
I may be mad, but which is the maddest of 

we three. 
Is it you? Or I? Or is it she? 



37- 



IN THE WINGS 

Back in the wings 

I remember how I used to stand by your side 
until you went on. 

I remember the darkness and the slow beat of 
the music — 

And the mad desire in me to hold you always 
near me. 

I remember the weird reflection of the colored 
spot as it circled round, 

And you gazing intensely at the dancers, 

While I watched only the curve of your neck 
and the way your hair grew. 

You seemed to be always thinking of the 
dancers. 

Or, as you said yourself so often, 

"Of nothing at all." 

But I, while standing with my shoulder touch- 
ing yours, 

Or holding your hand — 

Would dream great, wonderful dreams that car- 
ried far beyond the horizon! 



—38— 



INFATUATION 

It is not that I shall ever forget 
The charm of your face, this I do not fear, 
Or the rhythmic sway of your form, nor yet 
The melody of the voice I loved to hear. 
These things I shall remember. 
I shall remember, too, the beauty of your eyes 
And the stirring curves of your crimson mouth, 
Like lightning storms and wind-swept flam- 
ing skies 
Set on fire by the hot sun of the South. 
I can recall all the words you promised and 

said. 
Your seductive caressing ways and the false 

kisses you gave to me; 
Remembering these I cannot help harboring 

the dread 
That some day I will return, remembering no 
longer your cruelty. 



—39— 



ALL I ASK 

Not caresses, nor the touch of your hand, nor 

the sweet savor 
Of your love, I ask; nor the flavor 
Of your hps against mine day by day; 
(These joys I could not hope to stay). 
They will pass and naught remain. 
Except sweet memories, or perhaps the pain 
Of their departure. 
I could not hope that you would give these 

things forever, 
Nor that our lives in one long dream could pass 

together; 
But when love's tide has ebbed and after you 

quite forget. 
May there come to you no sad remorse or deep 

regret 
For the things that you have given. 



— 40— 



SYMBOL 

You are a symbol to me 

Of all the better things I might have been. 

Of all the best things I still might be, 

Of all the wonderful things that are not 

But exist somewhere in the God Mind 

As yet unborn and unfulfilled — 

These things you are to me. 

Then you are Truth and Silence — 

Both the Divine Force and the Great Strength, 

And being all these things 

You cannot help — being Love ! 



—41— 



MISUNDERSTANDING 

You have so completely misunderstood me 

Vainly I have tried to reach you 

But always you have turned away. 

And yet, 

Like a blue flame 

Burning hot and fiercely 

My faith has ever burned for you. 

Through the darkness 

Of my loneliness 

I have prayed for even small gleams 

From the candle of your thoughts — 

I would not pray for love; 

But all the while 

I would gladly have worn my soul out 

To bring you joy. 

And more than that. . . . 

Had you asked — 

For you I would have made a plaything 

Of my dreams. 

But what does it all matter — 

Why should I care 

That you do not love me, 

—42— 



Or that you turn away and despise me? 
Since through you I have found inspiration 
(All unworthy that you are) 
And quite unknowingly you have shown me 
The pathway to a star! 



—^S— 



ENDING 

Life! I am broken, tired, 

I have drunk too deep and wandered far — 

And coveted a star. 

I have been a rebel 

And fought against your laws. I was bent 

On wielding you . . . but you had me in your 

firmament 
And I never knew. 
Now I know — 
I know I cannot beat you. 
And he who wants to meet you 
Must go your way 
Or Perish. 

Life! I am weary, spent. 

The sun you gave me was only lent 

And now at the end of my day 

It has faded and gone away. 

I am lonely and grown cold; 

Youth is on my brow, yet I am old. 

And darkness falls around me. 

— 44 — 



Life! I am finished, ended, 

But before my way from you I've wended, 

I only ask one thing. I, who used to ask so, 

much ! 
(The music has stopped and I feel no touch), 
Life! I falter because the way is far too steep 
And so in pity just send me . . . Sleep! 



—45- 



POETRY 

Like a beautiful, frail, seductive woman 

Who flings herself across her lover's couch 

And wets his lips with desire — 

So you, too. 

Fling and stretch your long, lean, white- 
limbed body, 

Across the couch of Life 

And with your lips alluring. 

You chant your rhythmic, undulating, euphoni- 
ous, melodious song. 

Into the heart of me. 

Vainly I try to tear myself 

From the bondage of your voice. 

And cast you off — 

But from far away, 

And deep down in the long unlived-in and bar- 
ren valleys of my soul, 

I feel the breath of you. 

You are like pastures green. 

When one has lived forever with face pressed 
to the sand; 

You are like cool, moist rocks with moss between; 

—46— 



You are like shadows of thin cypress trees 

Across a moonht stream — 

Like rippHng, twisting, sprays of foam 

Across the dark unfathomable sea. 

These things you seem to me. 

In you, Oh, Poetry, 

Lies the power to lift me up. 

And mad w'th frenzied exaltation 

To bear my spirit beyond the need of any 

mortal want. 
In you the power 
To beat upon my heart strings. 
And quivering, with your music, 
To toss for me weird, flaming words across my 

brain, 
And hear your rhythm in my soul beat back 

again. 
In you the power to dash me down — 
For in my desire to create a child of yours; 
And after infinite toil and labor pain. 
To find it deformed, weak, and not worthy of 

your name. 



—47 



ATLANTIC CITY 

Vulgar houses 

And large grotesque hotels, 

Thousands of swarming people. 

Overfed, disgusting, and fat, 

Or pale and sickly; 

Creeping along the boardwalk 

Or being pushed by sweating niggers 

In pigmy houses built on wheels. 

Shops filled with gaudy finery — 

Cheap laces, false jewelry, and pink 

and blue sea salt candy. ... 
And then more shops. 
And million dollar piers 
Stretching their sordid hands out toward the 

horizon. 
And reaching down into the depths and sacred 

blueness of the ocean. 
Which, in the face of all such man-built 

hideousness. 
Remains forever, mysterious, 
Sublime and beautiful! 



—48— 



YOUR FACE 

How glorious is the coming back to your face 

After I have seen so many others 

All missing something, 

And failing me completely. 

Faces filled with lust and hatred, 

With joy, hope and despair; 

Some dripping with greed and others fresh with 

love — 
But in your face, 
I find the consummation or possibility of all 

these things. 
Both good and evil — 
Like a well 

With no man capable of measuring its depth. 
Mysterious, pathetic, sensitive, strong and 

weak; 
But always exquisite 
With a beauty that creates in my heart an 

aching thing 
That penetrates and fires my soul forever. 
How glorious is the coming back to your face 
After I have seen so many others. 

-49— 



ILLUSION 

Last year 

Within this door 

We stood and dreamed 

Great dreams. 

I remember the Hght 

In your face, 

And the odor of my hhes, 

Suffocating and strange. 

This year — 

You have gone 

And I have ceased to dream. 

But my Khes are flowering once more, 

And their odor. 

In the dusk's wane. 

Creates you. 

And our dreams, 

All over again. 



—50- 



FESTA DEL REDENTORE IN VENICE 

Deep blue water, 

Like a dark sapphire; 

A thousand swinging lanterns 

Reflected in its depths, 

And hung from gondolas 

Whose blackness makes them forever 

True comrades of the night. 

Fireworks with spark and light; 

Dripping from the skies. 

Like thirsty stars 

Bending to cool their lips 

On Venetian waters. 

Near by and far 

The echo of a carefree laugh. 

The plaintive voices of violins, 

And clear songs of living men; 

While deep in the shadows 

Of beauty and old palaces, 

Crouch the ghosts of tears and crime, 

And men long centuries dead. 



—51 



COLOR SYMPHONY 

Open wings of sea gulls 

And snow peaks are white; 

Deep water in ancient slime-lined wells 

Is black — 

Great cities are gray, 

With dark, gloomy smoke rising to kill the 

day. 
Sunsets are gold 
And sometimes red. 
While the moon glows silver, 
And then instead 
Its face seems rose. 
But love — 
Love is all colors. 

Sometimes black and sometimes red, 
Seldom white but again gold — 
Colors of youth and colors old; 
Faded colors. 
Lavender, green. 

With stretches of orange in between. 
Love is often a deep rich blue, 
Or crimson for blood 
With a dark brown hue. 
Love is gray 
Like twilight's breath — 
Love — all color symbols of life 
Yet, in reality, Death! 

—52— 



TO ONE WHO LOVES JEWELS 

I GAVE you verses of mine 

Telling of my sadness 

And praising your beauty, 

But you tossed the beautiful white sheets 

That bore my poems 

Disdainfully away from you. 

I gave you my love — 

And more than that, 

I gave my dreams by night and day, 

But you understood neither 

And turned your face away. 

Then I gave you a jewel, 
A dark sapphire like the night 
With depths in it like the sea. 
And for that sapphire alone 
You smiled at me. 



-53— 



FOOTPRINTS 

Stretching before me the ever-moving but 
never-changing sea, 

Looking so wild and dark with mad white 
blotches of foam across its face — 

While I, 

A mere grain of sand in the turmoil and winds 
of Time, 

Stand alert and tense, 

Gazing forward and wondering and peering into 
the Future. . . . 

Across the depths of the sea hundreds of cen- 
turies roll past. 

And along its shores I follow the worn and 
faded footprints 

Of men long since dead. 



—54- 



LIFE AND YOUTH 

Through the archways of Life I tread, 

Nor do I walk with much less dread, 

Because I know 

That where I go. 

Millions have walked before me. 

I do not feel less pain because 'tis said, 

That saints and martyrs and soldiers have bled 

For what they gave. 

I am not brave 

Because of this. 

I weep not less. 

Because in distress 

Others, perhaps being stronger, have not wept 

as much; 
For Stoics, and tearless people, and because of 

such 
Restraint, I hold not back my tears. 

I borrow not my courage from the crowd. 
My heart is heavy and my head is bowed — 
But were I to raise my head high. 
And cast my eyes up to the sky, 
A star might guide me. 

—55— 



I cannot be what has been, 
I cannot see what's been seen. 
I shape my course. 
And gather force, 
From what's to come. 

The future is my golden star. 
My inspiration — and from afar, 
I see the deeds that may be done, 
I watch a race that may be run. 
And hold my breath in ecstasy. 

Away! Black shadows of the past, 

Stale traditions that hold us fast. 

Because they were. 

Must we not stir 

From off their worn out path.^^ 

I take up the spade of Youth and of Life, 
And fling new pebbles on the path, where 

strife 
Has worn the old ones out. 
I dig and put to rout. 
Old fancies and old doubt. 



-56- 



Across the world I hear a clear, new note; 
The locks are shattered and the chains are 

smote. 
And a moonbeam has fallen across life's 

shoulder. 
I raise my sword, and like a pioneer soldier, 
I sharpen it on the Shield of Hope. 



-57— 



POOR FOOLS 

The war is over — 

Once more they think that they may dance, 

And make the old-time gilded show, 

And drink behind closed doors 

Their forbidden, hoarded wine. 

And pin jewels upon their breasts. 

Dance on. 

Poor fools. 

Because you do not know 

That marching 

Over the face of the world 

Another Great Army is sweeping! 



—58— 



LONGING 

All night long I used to wish that I were dead, 
"May I never see another dawn," I said. 

Now I long for dawn the whole night through 
Because on waking it brings me — you ! 



—59 



MUSIC 

Forever, they are telling me 

How futile are your words. 

And yet — '■ 

It seems strange the spell you created when you 

spoke to me. 
I would never listen much to what you were 

saying, 
Because I was always hearing just the song in 

your voice. 
Quite ordinary things you would say, 
Such as: 

"I am really very tired tonight" — or 
"I wonder why the curtain is so late?" 
Or sometimes you would talk of simple things 

done during the day. 
But to me — 

To me it was all wonderful 
Because your voice 
Was mellow and low, 
And sounded like the muflBed pealing 
Of some distant old church bell. 



-60— 



FLOWERS AND STARS 

Flowers are the stars of earth, 
Stars, the flowers of the sky; 
But you are both in my heart — 
Flowers and stars till I die. 



—61— 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





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